Timothy supported my head. “Chloe?” His blue eyes grew wide, and I saw fear there.
I tried to sit up. The room swung around me as if suspended from a bungee cord. The pain throbbed from the base of my neck forward to my forehead.
“Don’t move. You could have a concussion.”
Timothy’s blue eyes came into focus again. Above him, Becky’s pale heart-shaped face peered down at me. Tears ran down her cheeks.
The image of Ezekiel’s shorn beard hit me like a punch to the jaw. “The pavilion. Ezekiel is in the pavilion.”
Timothy’s brow furrowed.
“He’s dead,” I said.
A keening cry went up in the room. Someone threw open the back door, and I felt the rush of air as people ran outside.
“Becky,” Timothy barked. “Stay with Chloe.” Gently as possible, he placed my head back down on the white-tiled floor. He jumped up and followed the others out of the kitchen.
Becky knelt beside me. The cotton fabric of her navy plain dress floated to the floor. “Chloe, are you all right? What happened?” She twisted her white apron in her hands.
I started to sit up again.
“No.” She pushed on my shoulder to force me to lay back down.
I brushed her hand away. “Help me up or I’ll get up on my own.”
She supported my elbow as I stood. The room spun. Somehow, I stayed upright.
The back door to the kitchen was open, and the chilly air cut through the room. Fallen leaves blew in and danced over the tiled floor. No one seemed concerned. The Amish women who worked in the kitchen whispered to each other in their own language. The only word I understood in my foggy state was Englischer, in reference to me I was sure.
Sirens broke through the sound of their conversations.
“Chloe, what do you want to do?” Becky gripped my elbow as if her grasp was the only support keeping me from tumbling back down to the floor. I took a wobbly step. She may be right about that.
“Sit down.”
My head spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl.
“There’s a break room on the other side of the kitchen.”
She led me from the room. My eyes blurred, and I concentrated on my steps, trying to forget Ezekiel Young’s face. The small break room held a sofa and a round table surrounded by cane chairs. I lowered myself onto the sofa and fatigue washed over me.
Becky voice broke through the fog. “Chloe, aren’t you supposed to stay awake in case you have a concussion?”
She was right, but what could it hurt to rest my eyes for a minute?
“Miss, miss? What’s your name?”
My eyelids fluttered open.
A burly EMT with black hair curling around his ears shone a penlight in my face. I blinked. I turned my eyes away. Chief Rose watched me from over his shoulder.
“Your name?” the EMT asked again.
I shook the cobwebs from my head. Ouch. Shaking my head was the last thing I should be doing. “Chloe Humphrey.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
He smiled. “Good answer, Miss Humphrey, though I’m afraid you might have a concussion. We’re taking you to the hospital.”
I felt sick to my stomach. I hated hospitals, and I had ever since my mother died in one. “I feel fine. It’s a little headache.”
He squinted at me. “It’s a big headache, and this isn’t up for debate. The ambulance is outside ready to take you. Do you think you can walk there?”
I nodded and immediately regretted it.
He helped me to stand.
“Hold on, Nate. She’s not going anywhere until I ask her a few questions.” Chief Rose’s tone was firm.
Irritation flashed across the mild-mannered EMT’s face. “You can talk to her at the hospital.”
I started to sit back down. “No, I want to talk to her here.” The sooner I spoke with Chief Rose, the sooner I could forget the image of Ezekiel Young. At least I hoped so.
A smile spread across the police chief’s delicate features. With her petite frame and short poodle-like hair, she looked like the girl next door, not a seasoned police officer. I knew better than to underestimate her. “I’m surprised to see you again so soon, Chloe. You’ve had an eventful day.”
My forehead creased, then I remembered Dylan and the broken window latch back in my bedroom. That seemed so long ago. Could it possibly be the same day? What day was it? I didn’t dare ask Nate. He would cart me off to the hospital that very minute.
She pulled a chair in front of the sofa. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
So I did.
The police chief didn’t take any notes. Does she have a photographic memory or something?
She leaned back in her chair. “Shame about the sawhorse tripping you.”
My throbbing head agreed. “Do you think this could be related to the other haircutting incidents in the county?”
She arched her brow.
“There was a story in the paper. Ezekiel’s beard was cut off.” I shivered at the memory. “I doubt I will be the last person to make the connection.”
Chief Rose frowned. “Cutting off hair is one thing. Murder is something entirely different.”
I thought for a moment. No easy feat considering the pounding in my head. It was like someone was doing the Irish jig on my frontal lobe. “Do you think Curt and Brock could be behind this?”
The chief’s peridot eyes flashed. “Cold-blooded murder would be a big step for those two.”
Not that big of a step.
“I’ll have one my officers find out what they were up to at the time of the murder.”
I placed a hand to the side my head. “Please don’t mention my name.”
“I don’t plan to, but Curt and Brock have a grudge against you, and they might figure it out, especially since the Amish are involved.”
Nate shuffled his feet. “Is that all, Chief? It’s time for Chloe to go.”
Chief Rose glanced at him. “That’s all for now.” She helped me to my feet and the world didn’t tilt on its axis as it had before. My stomach turned.
Was I nauseous because I was headed to the hospital or from something more?